


A good day to die -The tailored devil-

by Taniushka12



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Cutter is a Prepotent and Creepy Asshole, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Koudelka is a Very Sensitive Man, Overthinking, POV Multiple, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15445332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/pseuds/Taniushka12
Summary: The day was truly beautiful, and Cutter knew how to make it even better.Or,Koudelka gets the news about his wife's death, is recomforted by the devil himself, and suspects the beginning of his madness.





	A good day to die -The tailored devil-

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Un buen día para morir -El diablo en traje-](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334959) by [Taniushka12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/pseuds/Taniushka12). 



> I wrote this october last year bc 1. I love the headcanon that cutter himself went to tell their families that the crew were dead ([and also made a post abt it too](https://freckles-like-stars-n-shit.tumblr.com/post/166343129876/i-absolutely-accept-the-headcanon-tht-cutter)) bc it would fit him and 2. bc at the time i read _certain_ cutter  & koudelka fic and I really needed to write them interacting lmao
> 
> That being said, Im sure I overdid cutter, but boy i had fun writing his part

It was a beautiful day, depending of who you asked. The sun shined bright, the birds were singing, and the cars crossed quietly the street. His shadow of tailored devil only made the landscape prettier, if anybody asked him specifically.

 Marcus Cutter wasn't a very remarkable person, not at first sight. He wasn't very tall, comparing himself to some of his colleagues -his dear Warren, his beloved and venerated Miranda- he wasn't really skinny either, the only remarkable attributes he had were his glasses and the little scar on his upper lip. And his suits and, how could he forget, his perfect smile.

 That would be at first sight, before looking at him carefully or hear him talk, which would have to leave a bitter taste on the spectator's mouth, and feelings of prepotense and/or fear. Although anger was good too. Marcus smiled more while he crossed the street, anger was always fun, it made the latter pain taste even better.

 He could see from afar the place he had scheduled today, and he bit his lip to avoid laughing just by thinking about it. What was he going to find this time? He remembered the surprise and horror on the eyes of Isabel's parents, and the cold resentment of the fairly interesting Kate. He wondered what kind of man would Dominik be. Would he cry with grief for his wife's death? would he yell at him with rage for sending her up there in the first place? or would immediately drink some alcohol to not fall in depression? He really couldn't wait.

  He hoped it was rage this time. Perfect emotion for dear Renée.

 He had read that he was a calm man. He loved seeing quiet and calm men get violent in such ways. Pacific men wishing him only death. Seeing blood lust on someone's eyes while they knew that they couldn't do anything at all, that they weren't in control. Because once that Marcus entered the scene nobody was in control, even the naïve people who believed that they had it and abused it as they wished. Everybody were dogs, meek or rabid, tame or stray, but dogs altogether.

 Marcus smiled one of his perfect smiles that reached his eyes, letting himself indulge the metaphor and fantasize about mass famine, dirty dogs eating each other while he (and Miranda) watched from above. Laughing.

  He laughed a bit under his breath, bending for a few seconds and having to hide his mouth behind his hand. She wouldn't laugh, she would limit herself to see them with disgust, and a cold smile at the very least, but that didn't make his fantasy less pleasant, truly. When he finished laughing he took a deep breath through his nose, and let it out trough his mouth, vestiges of a smile cracking here and there, while he fixed his suit and knocked on the wooden door.

 Before this opened his face acquired a serious tone, one that surely Miranda would find funny, but that any mortal would buy even if for a few minutes.

 A tired face, with small dark circles around the eyes behind a pair of glasses appeared in the door frame, and perfectly repressing a smile Marcus could verify that his face was, certainly, one of a kind man.

 —Mr. Koudelka?

 —Yes? —His voice was deep, but considerate. It was such a shame that it was his only frame of reference before he had to break his heart. He loved seeing the comparison. He sighed, in such a way that he actually looked pained.

 —Mr. Koudelka, I come in representation of Goddard Futuristics, and I have bad news... —Behind his glasses he could see the exact moment where his face changed from confusion to fear. Ah... —It's about your wife.

 It was perfect.

 A truly beautiful day.

* * *

 Dominik could feel how the floor under and the walls around him started to crumble above him, and with a whisper he offered the suited man to come in. He didn't waste any time, stepping in as if he owned the place, sitting on the couch with crossed legs while he tried to walk to the nearest chair without falling.

 He exchanged some words with the man, ignoring all the exclamation on his head that yelled in favor of the doubt, while he tried to read something, anything, on his face. He needed to know that she was safe. He needed to know that she was...

  —Renée died.

  —...What?

  And just like that, with those simple words, the last vestiges of hope he held of seeing his dear Renée come back alive got quickly lost. His two years waiting for her, her words before leaving -worry about me only ten minutes a day, and then keep doing what you were doing-, the letters piled up that he didn't get a chance to send and her first transmissions when she still sent them, all of that started to fall apart as he felt his vision go blurry with the tears. 

 But, despite his grief, his head kept spinning. His gaze never leaved the other man's cold eyes, and he could almost say that he was reacting to his collapse. He could almost say that he had a smile on his empty lips, a sparkle of emotion on his eyes, something... ominous. He saw him lick his lips, before resting his hand on his shoulder. A recomforting gesture.

  —I'm sorry. —He whispered, while his own throat and mind were in pain due to his anguish and he unconsciously leaned on his hand. A small part of him said that he was lying, that _he was enjoying it_  and it wasn't wise to submit to people like that. But despite his doubt -Who could be so sadistic to enjoy of something like that?-, with more than heartbreak he couldn't do anything else than to give in and let himself be guided to his shoulder. It surprised him to feel his other hand brush through his hair, before saying, slowly—. Renée was a wonderful woman.

  —Yes... Yes she was... —He replied with a choked voice, finally breaking and feeling warm tears roll down his cheek and into his suit. For a few minutes the only sound on the room were his sobs and his erratic and wet breathing against the man's neck, until it all died in silence some time later. His arms were clinging to the man's, and before he could either keep crying or apologize and pull away, he heard him sigh. His own hands were firm against his back and hair.

  —Dominik... —He started saying, with a strange and intimate familiarity that gave him goosebumps. Apparently he noticed something -he thought- because he then asked— Can I... call you Dominik?

  With those words like a bucket of cold water Dominik remembered, with surprise, bitterness and sorrow, something that his dear wife told him years ago, before all that started. On his memories she sounded so real, so emotive, so _alive_ , talking about the strange man who offered her _the job of her dreams._

 — ** _Renée, can I call you Renée?_**

 With a shiver he felt heavier the hands of the man -Marcus. Cutter. If he remembered correctly- on him, one above the expanse of his back and the other one nearly playing with his hair. Nothing changed about their positions, but with that memory present on Dominik's mind he couldn't feel less than disgust and anger for his guest. And then, a mix between hope and terror.

 What, exactly, was that despicable man doing there? What if his hunch was true and that man was _enjoying_  the situation? Could he believe a man who was only there to torment him?

 Could he believe that his wife was truly dead?

 —Dominik?

 Could he believe that Renée was dead? Could she be alive? Could she...? His head started to fill with a million questions about Renée's final destiny, among exclamations of joy to life, anger to his foolish hope and poison to... He swallowed while he grabbed the front part of Cutter's suit.

 He wasn't stupid. He would realize that he knew something. If he really did know, which he didn't have any physical evidence beyond his own paranoia and desire. He rested his forehead on his shoulder with a broken sigh, ignoring how the other straightened up.

 —I'm sorry.

 He immediately heard a short choked laugh, and he frowned, unsurprised.

 —Don't worry about it, Dominik... After all, your wife died and you're all alone... —He felt a shiver up his spine, without wanting that his words wound him more than he already was. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction—. It's a normal reaction.

 —You're right.

 Finally, after what it felt like years, he pulled back. With his head a bit clearer than a few minutes ago he could realize the real tone of their conversation. How it was all part of a very bad joke, how the sad sympathetic smile of Cutter was just a mask hiding his real smile, wicked and vicious and repulsive, just like the man wearing it.

  He froze when he felt his hand on his shoulder, very close to his neck. Now it was his turn to feel scrutinized, feeling those golden eyes trying to read every inch of his face, and finally seeing how his smile grew nearly imperceptibly.

  —Well, I think it's time I'll get going. I have quite a trip back.

  —I don't envy your job. —He whispered, choosing carefully his words and trying to maintain an innocent façade. He didn't want to deal with the scenario of him knowing that he wasn't deceived by his lies. He didn't know how he could react, and honestly it frightened him just thinking about it. Already outside of the door frame Cutter took out a card of his pocket, and carefully put it on the front pocket of his own sweater.

  —If you ever need anything, _Dominik_ , don't hesitate to call me. I could always make some time for you. —There was a nearly suggestive tone on his words, and Dominik could feel how his stomach contracted. But even then he kindly smiled ignoring his sadistic smile.

  —I will, _thank you_.

  Cutter kept looking at him before he finally turned, and when he disappeared at the end of the street the man entered his home, letting himself fall against the door to the floor and feeling a scream eating out his throat. Tears, screams, grief, pain, so many things stuck on his simple mortal body were eating him,  that the only thing he could do was try to inhale and exhale despite the shaking on his breath and the very faint amount of air that could enter his lungs. He covered his mouth with his hand, on an attempt to suffocate the feelings and the doubts that started to rise.

  What if he was wrong? And if Cutter genuinely came to tell him about the death of his wife and he foolishly didn't want to believe him? Really, thinking about a sinister conspiration because your wife died was stupid and paranoid, for not saying something else. He rested his head on the wooden door, needing something cold to calm him down. He needed to clear his mind.

  —Renée... —He whispered despite the physical pain that torn down his throat while talking, missing her now more than ever. His dear, intelligent, wonderful Renée, if she were there she would grab him by the shoulders and shake him up, demanding him to focus, to think and to find a solution. As she always did—. _Renée. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

  His head hurted like hell, and when he finally got to take a deep breath the tears started to flow from his eyes, now without nothing that stopped them. He was going to focus, he was going to think if there was really hope or if the loneliness and grief were poisoning his mind -and possibly making him descend into madness-, and he was going to find a solucion.

  Tomorrow.

  For today was a day of mourning, misfortune, and tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact! while i was originally writing this fic i started thinking an alternative plot that was much, **much** worse than this one, but luckily i stayed on track. 
> 
> I hope you liked it !!


End file.
